[listening to “Gas Station,” Damien Jurado]

When Tiffany & I were 16 or 17, we began to partake in Lighthouse Confessionals which are exactly what they sound like. We’d go together or alone, usually on a sharp hangover & toting Gatorade the whole way. I have volumes of memories of the lighthouse stacked on top of one another; some of them silly, some breathtaking, some completely lonely, some I still wish I could forget. The lighthouse has seen and heard more than I could ever imagine; it means something different and yet completely important to god knows how many people (Alison, I think of you while writing this)…

Today was one of the lonely days; it felt like this:

You can’t keep me here now, it’s never been my home / The lights all blinking and now all I’m thinking is ‘how the hell did I get here?’ / This fence around your garden won’t keep the ice from falling / I’d always planned to come back for you, but we both how know you’d never leave…

Some days are off days, today couldn’t be described as anything else. I don’t have any money but I don’t mind. I don’t have any direction and that bothers me.

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